


Puppet With Missing Threads

by English is my death (Lena013)



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, R27 - Freeform, Reincarnation, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, gender switch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29135679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lena013/pseuds/English%20is%20my%20death
Summary: Tsuna learned a lot in his short but busy life, but he was definitely not ready for this.Версия на русском.
Relationships: Reborn/Sawada Tsunayoshi, Reborn/fem!Sawada Tsunayoshi
Kudos: 12





	Puppet With Missing Threads

Tsuna thought it was strange to look into the eyes of a man who had completely turned his life around several times with the help of educational kicks — and not see recognition. Tsuna generally considered his life unnecessarily strange, especially with the arrival of a killer tutor and a legacy that had fallen on his head. Tsuna learned a lot in his short but busy life, but he was definitely not ready for this.

It was not terrible to die: the pain is familiar, the attempt of the Guardians to save their Sky is useless, I did not want to close my eyes _blue skies are beautiful._ But waking up in a strange world, in a strange body, and taking on other people's problems is hard and unpleasant. Tsuna laughed hoarsely and slightly broken, rolling over on his side and spitting blood. Ribs broken, lung punctured, left leg twisted unnaturally, face smashed, own blood sticky, slick, familiar-hit and run over by a furniture truck in broad daylight, sealing the flames as deep as possible. Suicide. Short-tempered, impulsive, desperate.

I was walking along the road from the store, saw a speeding driver, stopped, _could not restrain myself._

Tsuna is taken away by an ambulance, and it's not his memories that are mixed up in his head. Sawada Ietsuna — a girl who was raised as a warrior; broken-broken-and-broken to make her stronger; crippled, distorted to the point of impossibility. Tsuna is put under anesthesia, he chokes on the bleeding, tears flow from his eyes — not from pain, no; _from the pictures of someone else's life._

She was six when she was chosen as the Heir: she has a powerful, bright, gentle flame; she has her father's light blonde hair and blue, blue eyes that are not clear to anyone; she has a loving mother and a younger twin brother with dark hair and large, frightened eyes. Ietsuna loves her family, plays with her brother, gives him a hand when he stumbles, wipes his tears and leads him, blotting out the sun with a smile; she is tactile, mobile and happy to help her mother when she asks; she rejoices in the rare visits of her father and pretends not to feel the lie. _She breaks down for the first time when her father suggests that she go with him,_ to Italy, for a few years, to study. My mother is not against it, even happy, my brother whines, does not want to let go, and the little girl promises to write every day. Or every other day. Or in a month. Ietsuna is not allowed to write or call home herself.

She is seven years old, when the flame fully awakens, _she thinks that she is about to die._ The dogs want to tear her apart, painfully biting into her flesh, almost tearing off whole pieces — it hurts like hell, Ietsuna has lost her voice from the screams, Ietsuna understands that no one will save her. The flames wake up, bursting out with the wild zeal of a natural disaster, the wounds heal a little, the dogs burn alive, _the father chuckles contentedly to the side._ Tsuna died at that moment — Sawada Ietsuna had just started her splinter journey.

She turns ten when her blue eyes fade, becoming a cheesy copy of what you see in children's photos. The eyes darken, become monotonous, faded, glassy. _Children don't look like that,_ children don't have to look like a crooked fake, children don't burn out from the inside so early. The flame inside accumulates, ignites in return for the soul given to the force; a deal with conscience, common sense, hope and the devil; a broken shell remains, which learns to portray life.

She's twelve when they bring her home, and she knows — _she won't know anything._ She doesn't know how to behave with ordinary people, not able to join the team, can't mend broken relationships. Her brother is distant, upset, and even angry with her — Ietsuna doesn't understand why, but the first one doesn't ask: she doesn't know how, she doesn't know why. Ietsuna shrugs slightly at her brother's initial attacks and pushes the grudge deeper.

My mother _seems_ to be behaving the same way as she did many years ago. Her mother smiles at her, sometimes kisses her on the forehead in the morning at breakfast, and is always happy to talk about something everyday. My mother ruffles my brother's hair, gives him a few instructions for the day, scolds him about the unfinished lessons and the mess in the room, asks why he didn't get enough sleep, how things are going at school and what he plans to do today. Ietsuna is still lost on the affectionate address "Tsu-kun" and her heart is treacherously aching from the love and care in these words. They don't look at her like that, they don't talk to her like that, they don't give her a third of that attention.

Ietsuna pretends that she is not in pain, not hard — this is a sign of weakness, there may be consequences for this, _the scars under her clothes hurt from the supply of her own flame._

Ietsuna is thirteen when a tutor comes to her, the best killer in the world, a tall Italian in a suit and a black hat, _black eyes frighteningly piercing, attentive, bottomless._ She was given no choice, new training, new preparations for the Tenth Vongola fast, new trials, and bouts of quiet, hidden hysteria.

Ietsuna almost does not resist outright bullying, which still does not cross reasonable boundaries. Ietsuna is not well acquainted with the applicants for the role of Guardians and loses their interest very quickly. Ietsuna is not surprised that all possible allies and friends have moved to his brother's side, even the tutor sighed in an unusual way and went to another room.

Tsunayoshi was just as shy, a little shy, and terribly clumsy. He had everything falling out of his hands, he laughed at it, didn't really care about poor grades in the humanities, and spent a lot of time on the computer. He always dreamed of real friends, and he was happy to welcome all these bright, incredible people in his small room. Tsunayoshi was the True Sky, and he drew all the other attributes to him without thinking. But. Its flame was weak, just as quiet, and incapable of great feats. Tsunayoshi didn't have the will, the determination that the flame needed — he was one of those who sincerely hoped that problems would solve themselves.

Ietsuna was allowed to float freely and, as if at the snap of a finger, new interesting people appeared who did not consider her distant or cold. Ietsuna felt that something was wrong, but she didn't listen to her intuition. Ietsuna paid for it with treachery and a metaphorical knife in the back with real painful sensations.

Ietsuna went into battle with the fugitives of Vindice Prison like a suicide bomber on the block: doomed, humble, and completely alone.

_No more than a broken puppet with missing threads._

Rokudo Mukuro was tough, strong, and more than a little crazy. He was also disappointed and said that she looked like the children of Estraneo. Ietsuna would have shrugged if one of them hadn't been broken.

And then she was saved (what did she not expect?) and even pumped out. Tsunayoshi called out to everyone he could, as he still lacked the strength, but with the bullets of the dying will and the superior number, they had a chance to save his sister from an unnecessarily stupid death. At least, that's what Ietsuna remembered, while the killer tutor literally forced her to stay conscious and swore, it seems, in four languages in one sentence.

Ietsuna wanted to get a tattoo with a refusal of resuscitation, but no one would fill it. Not a frail fourteen-year-old girl with pale eyes and slightly gray hair that gets lost in the real color. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, because she had been pumped out for some reason.

The Conflict of the Rings didn't interest her completely; again beat out the remnants of the spirit, revived again, again, forced to dance to the tune of life when you want to give up, to lie down and never get up. She was automatically picking up groceries, paying for her purchases, and walking slowly down the street when the shape of a speeding truck appeared in the distance…


End file.
